


25 July

by mmmuse



Series: Six Months:  Journey to Love [5]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shift from master and servant to man and wife present challenges for Ross and Demelza Poldark during their first six months of marriage. Inspired by scenes from Poldark 2015, episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	25 July

**Author's Note:**

> This piece follows my previous works and may reference a bit or a bob from them (from time to time) but I think this series could be a standalone. That said, if you'd like to see what has come before, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse) for my works. If there IS a piece to read before this, read [One Night.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/321026)
> 
> Please be aware, there is a scene in the following that contains an element of misperceived non-consensual sex.

Jinny Carter, a small, comely young woman, stood at the parlour table at Nampara, attempting to knead a large wodge of wet, sticky bread dough. The squelching sound of the dough was loud, but not loud enough to draw Demelza’s attention as she looked out the parlour window. It was a pretty view, overlooking the steep decline towards the cliffs over the Cornish sea. Ordinarily, it was a view that calmed her, but today, her mind was clouded with worry.

“How is it you aren’t at the buryin’?” Jinny's voice, sounding perplexed, drew Demelza from her thoughts. She turned to find her new kitchen maid’s hands becoming more and more mired in the dough.

“’Tis for fancy folk and family,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and walking over to the table. “Not for the likes of me.”

“Are you not family?” Jinny said simply.

Demelza leaned over to extract the dough from Jinny’s side of the table to drop it on her own. “Ross might say so, but I know ’tis not my place.”

“What is your place?”

Jinny’s questions, whilst simple, struck home. Demelza did her best not to squirm under the young woman’s gaze. “Betwixt in between,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel. “Neither one nor t’other.” She distracted the both of them by sprinkling more flour on the dough, making it more workable. She smiled, gave the dough back to Jinny and dusted her hands on her apron before returning to her place in the window.

It had been less than a week since the young woman had agreed to become Demelza’s new kitchen maid and she had conflicted feelings about this new arrangement. After all, she and Jinny had been good friends when _she’d_ been the Nampara kitchen maid only three months before.

That was before Demelza had bedded the master of the house, that is.

She had only been married to Ross Poldark for a little more than four weeks. And in that time, Demelza had continued to struggle with her new role as mistress, Jinny’s arrival challenged Demelza’s ability to balance the friendship she had with the girl and her role as mistress of Nampara. But Demelza’s self confidence in her new role was the shakiest when asked to step beyond the stone fence surrounding their home and interact with anyone outside of their small household. As it so happened, Ross had manoeuvred her into making her first official visit to the mine as his wife less than a week ago.

At first, it had gone about as well as she could have hoped. She’d been able to speak to some of the women who helped up top, sorting the stones the men brought up from the shafts. She’d been the daughter of a miner, after all, and could engage in conversation about these matters for hours. However, when it had come time to be reintroduced to Ross’ mine supervisor, Captain Henshaw, as Ross’s wife she’d failed miserably.

_“Captain Henshaw, you know my wife Demelza,” Ross said, walking up the steep path towards the hill where she’d been standing since her arrival. If she were honest with herself, she’d hoped Ross would forget she was there. There was not much chance of that._

_“A pleasure to see you, ma’am,” Henshaw said pleasantly. He was a tall, strapping gentleman several years older than her husband with a broad smile and easy-going manner._

Here goes. _“Good day to you, sir,” she said, marvelling when she noticed him tip his hat in respect to her._ Small talk, Demelza! _“No sign of those shoals, yet.” She glanced at some of the other women who stood, as still as sentries, along the cliff edge, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun, looking intently at the sea. The annual migration of the pilchard shoals was late that season, and there was fear they’d travelled north towards Ireland, taking them from their shoreline altogether. This would be catastrophic for the families that relied upon the small, oily fish to see them through the winter months._

_“Demelza’s of mining stock herself,” Ross continued with the introductions. “Her father is a tributer at Illogan.”_

_Henshaw’s eyebrows shot upwards on his expressive face. “Perhaps you’d like him to join us here, ma’am?”_

_She snorted. “I’d as lief stick a fork in my eye!” Judas, she wanted to die on the spot. Both men did their best to cover their amusement with coughs, bowing their heads, looking off into the distance or up into the heavens. It did not escape Demelza’s eye that her husband was close to exploding in guffaws, the grin on his face so broad and laughable in its own right. She swallowed, selecting her words carefully. “Uh… we do get on better from a distance, sir.”_

_Henshaw nodded graciously._ Perhaps you could learn from your friend here, husband dear, _she thought to herself grumpily. Time to make a hasty retreat. “I must be getting back,” she said, pasting a smile on her face, “the pies’ll be burning.” She was so nervous and so eager to return to the sanctuary of Nampara that she dropped into a curtsey without thinking about the unevenness of the ground under her feet. She felt herself begin to topple a second too late to catch herself from falling. Ross’s hand shot out and gripped her elbow before she could further embarrass herself. He hauled her close to him and they began the trip towards home._

 _He drew her hand through his arm to rest in the crook of his elbow while they made the half a mile walk home to the cottage. She remembered the first time he’d done that: the day he’d convinced her to marry him._ Convinced _, she thought to herself. It had required some convincing, for she’d felt certain it was pure folly, at first, then patently ridiculous._ Him _? Marry_ her _?_

_But now? She hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but she was happier than she’d ever thought possible. It felt lovely to walk beside him this way, she thought to herself, their pace slow and relaxed. It was companionable, but it was more than that. There was an intimacy about it, a closeness borne from the intimacies they shared at home. She knew all there was to know about him, physically, by now and he her. Their steps wove back and forth, their bodies swaying gracefully with each step. Her breast brushed and bumped up against the back of his elbow in time._

_They were silent most of the way home until they reached the gate. Feeling the safety and security of the place she loved most in the world, she shared her concerns with Ross._ _“I was that worried I’d show you up,” she confessed._

_“Why would you?” he asked._

_“I’ve no notion how to be!” she grumbled._

_“As you are—”_

_“—But what am I?” she interrupted, frustration making her terse._

_“A lady—”_

_“—I’m not,” she interrupted once again, and was distressed to hear the edge of tears in her voice, “and I don’t know how!”_

_He was quiet for a moment. Their measured footsteps crunched in the gravel in the drive. “You’re a quick learner,” he said softly._

_It was a lovely compliment to cherish on any other day, perhaps. Today, it just made her feel inadequate. “Nay, Ross, I came today at your behest, but I shan’t venture again,” she said, sighing sadly. “Miners are my own kind, but I’d not be so kindly received by yours.”_

_At that moment, she noticed Jud walking across the dusty yard no more twenty yards ahead of them, one of her fresh pies held in his grimy hands, Garrick close on his heels. “Judas! I’ll fetch him such a dusting!” She charged up the drive into the yard, “Oi! Guts! Get back here, you good-for-nothing viper!” She leapt upon the thieving, conniving servant, sending them all – Jud, Demelza and the pie – tumbling down into the dirt. She vaguely heard Ross’s voice shouting something at her, but she was too enraged at Jud’s actions to respond. “Half a morn I laboured at that pie, you lizard!” She jammed her knee into his ribs for good measure. “Think to fox me, would you, hmm? You’ll have to be quicker than that!”_

_Ross was not amused in the slightest. He hauled her bodily off of Jud and whipped her around, the grip on her elbow harsh and painful. He’d walked her several paces away from the supine servant. “I told you to stop, did you not hear me?” he barked._

_“Yes, but—” she spluttered, dust flying off of her dress and cloak._

_“—I cannot have my wife wrestling a manservant,” he snapped. “It is unbecoming.” His very words proved the point she had been attempting to make about herself: she was no lady._

_Unfortunately, she had the perfect specimen of genteel womanhood all too readily available for her comparison: Elizabeth Poldark nee Chynoweth, the woman Ross had been in love with before he left for war. The woman Demelza felt would hold his heart forever. The spectre of Elizabeth was never far from her thoughts, especially when she was feeling doubtful about herself and the position she held in her husband’s life. Elizabeth would have never flung herself atop a servant in the middle of the dusty yard, even if that servant were making off with the family jewels, let alone a stupid pie._

_“No, Ross. I see it is not dignified,” Demelza said nodding shakily. “I’ll remember next time.”_

_“There will be **no** next time,” Ross said, curtly. He nudged her forward, back out of the yard and down the drive. He thrust his tricorn hat back down on his head, lengthening his stride. She had to skip to keep up with him. “There **is** only one way to remind you that you are no longer a servant.”_

_Demelza’s heart jumped up into her throat. He was taking her into Mellon to find a servant! “But you’ll do all the arrangin’?” she asked nervously twisting her fingers in the hem of her cloak._

_“I will not.” He turned to look at her as they walked. “_ You _are mistress of Nampara. It’s for you to engage your own servants.”_ _He’d told her precisely_ that _on the day after they’d married. She’d hoped he’d forgotten, but once again, there was not much chance of that._

Forty minutes later, they’d left Jinny Carter’s cottage where the young woman had just become kitchen maid to Captain and Mistress Poldark of Nampara. She’d been very happy for the work, offering to serve Demelza gladly and bobbing a curtsey to both her and Ross before they’d left. Demelza herself could barely affect a decent curtsey, as long as she didn’t have anything in her hands and was able to completely focus on the task. Yet now, however, she was not the one _performing_ curtseys, but _receiving_ them. And while it made her feel uncomfortable, she tried her best to adjust. Some days were better than others.

Today, however, Demelza’s mood was not being hampered by Jinny or her role as the kitchen maid – it was a blessing having her around. The girl’s eagerness to please was a welcomed counterpoint to Jud and Prudie’s begrudging manner. It wasn’t even the fact that she couldn’t curtsey, although it was definitely related. This had to do with what occurred between Demelza and her husband following the death of his uncle.

Charles Poldark of Trenwith, patriarch of the Poldark family, died on the evening of the 20th. He’d been in failing health for several months, having suffered a heart stroke during the christening of his grandson and namesake Geoffrey Charles, Francis and Elizabeth’s boy. The family had thought his condition was improving until that very afternoon.

It happened hours after Ross arrived to see his uncle for the first time since he had announced his intent to marry Demelza. That particular encounter had ended very poorly and had caused a rift between the two Poldark families. Ross had asked Demelza to accompany him to visit his ailing uncle at Trenwith House. Still stung from her trip up to the mine, she balked, claiming a myriad of chores kept her from joining him.

This had been one of those moments she should have swallowed her fears and done as he’d asked. She remembered seeing Ross’s face when he’d returned from Trenwith that night with news of his uncle’s passing: ashen and troubled. When she’d asked him what she could do for him, he’d shaken his head, then refused supper and walked into the library without another word, closing the door behind him with a solid click. She’d done her best to stay up for him but eventually fell asleep, discovering in the morning that he’d not joined her in the night.

In the two days following his uncle’s death he’d been brooding and standoffish, engaging in only the smallest of conversations during the day. Demelza had experience with this side of his personality since the first days of her life at Nampara, but she had not seen it very often since their engagement and marriage. What had really begun to worry her was that he would climb into their bed at night and turn his back towards her, instead of taking her in his arms or spooning up behind her.

Her arms ached for him. She wanted to hold and comfort him, as she would wish to be should someone she loved be taken from her. A thought had occurred to her, during one of the sleepless hours she spent lying next to him, feeling the distance between them grow by the minute: was he upset with her over her refusal to go to Trenwith that day? The thought filled her with dread, but it made a twisted kind of sense. She vowed she would ask him about it as soon as she could the next morning and drifted into a strange, disjointed sleep.

Later that night, she’d been roused from her sleep by his hands, reaching for her, roughly pulling the nightrail she’d taken to wearing only the night before up and over her hips before parting her legs with his own. He surged into her, thrusting into her body without speaking, his teeth latched onto the skin between her neck and shoulder until he found his satisfaction. He’d lifted his head then, as if seeing her for the first time, and she’d seen shock and terrible shame etch his features. Still shaken from the suddenness of their intercourse, she’d lifted a hand to touch his cheek, to offer him a moment of tenderness. He’d lurched back, slipping from her body as suddenly as he’d entered it and clasped her wrist to still her hand. “Demelza, I’m sorry,” he’d said, his voice low and strained. He would not look her in the eye. “I should not have used you that way. Forgive me?”

“Yes, Ross, of course,” she said, realization dawning with a rush of adrenaline. Her eyes burned with unshed tears at the thought; he thought he’d taken her against her will! As confused as she had been by the unexpected and intensely physical nature of their joining, she was by no means upset by it. On the contrary, once she’d realized his intent, her body responded almost instantly, his thrusts and the stinging bites to her neck and shoulder bringing her to the verge of orgasm when he groaned heavily in her ear, his body shuddering against hers with his release. And now, here he was, apologizing!

He got up to sit on the side of the bed. She got up behind him and placed her hand in the centre of his back. His flinch almost broke her heart.

“I’ll sleep in the library tonight,” he said, rising quickly from the bed and pulling an old robe out from the wardrobe. He slipped it around his body and left the room before she’d had a chance to say a word.

She stood motionless for a moment before racing after him, to tell him that he _truly_ had nothing to be sorry about their joining and how sorry she was for not accompanying him to Trenwith. She caught him before he’d reached the bottom stair. “Ross!” she cried, moving in front of him, pressing her hands against his chest to stop his progress. “Please, listen to me—”

“—Demelza,” he interrupted, his voice hoarse and strained, “I need to be alone tonight.” He raised tortured eyes to hers. “Please.” He turned from her and continued to the library, closing the door solidly behind him.

She stood in the cold, dark hallway for several moments but didn’t feel the chill before climbing the stairs back to their bedchamber, where she cried herself to sleep

The next morning, she woke groggy, her eyes scratchy from her tears. She’d made her way downstairs to find him, but he was nowhere to be found. Darkie _had_ been found, peacefully munching her feed, in the barn, which meant he hadn’t gone far. She’d decided to go for a walk, to clear her head and, hopefully, find him along the way.

By the time she’d returned from her walk, Ross was walking out to the yard where Darkie waited for him. Demelza had looked up at him, uncertain and heartsick. He carried a full saddlebag with him and had dark circles under his eyes. She’d stepped towards him and placed her hand on his arm. He hadn’t flinched at her touch this time, and she’d taken that for a good sign. “Ross, please, what can I do for you?”

He’d looked at her, sadness in his dark green gaze. “I will be staying at Trenwith until after the services on Saturday. Please forgive me for last night, Demelza. It was inexcusable.”

“Of course, Ross,” repeating what she’d said the night before, “there is nothing to forgive. But please, we need to talk. Please?”

He shook his head. “I need some time, to think. We will talk when I return.” He leaned down to brush a kiss along her cheekbone. She knew he must have tasted the tears that had fallen at his words. He turned, securing the saddlebag on Darkie’s back and swung up into the saddle. He turned to look at her once more before clicking his tongue and tapping the horse’s sides with his heels to start his journey.

She’d spent the better part of that day sequestered in their bedchamber, curled up in the centre of their bed, holding the book Ross had given her in her hands. She hadn’t had the chance to practice her letters and sums in it yet, but imagined if she were to do so at that moment the pages would be blotted with her tears. She felt at a loss for what to do for him.

 

“Mistress? Can you check this dough for me? I think it’s ready.”

Jinny’s voice roused Demelza from her thoughts. She quickly dashed the tears from her cheeks and joined her at the table to form the loaves. An hour later, Demelza returned to stand by the window to look out at the rough waves. The loaves of bread were rising on the hearth and the beginnings of a rabbit stew were taking shape under Jinny’s capable hands. Demelza sipped her tea, wondering what Ross was doing… who he was talking with, which made her thoughts turn, inexorably, towards Elizabeth.

Demelza set the teacup down in the saucer with a loud clink of china, suddenly angry with herself. If she was so concerned about Ross spending time with Elizabeth she should have gone with him! She paused, blinking at the idea. _What would I have said if he’d asked me to go to the funeral with him?_ she thought to herself, analytically, for the first time. Would she not have said yes if he’d asked her? She acknowledged the fact that she still feared attempting to enter society as his wife, to be accepted within his circle of friends and family of the gentry. But wouldn’t she do just about anything for him, even if it caused her distress? The love she had for him would have powered her through whatever challenge, if only he’d shown her he needed her, wanted her for more than just her body.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross shivered as he and Darkie crossed the creek near the cottage. It had been inordinately cold for July, but he’d found the clouds and cold suited his mood. He was known for his brooding presence around the moors, and today was no exception. His mind was on the funeral and the events that had followed the service. He’d been unaccountably affected by his uncle’s death, particularly considering the strained relationship they’d had off and on since his return from America. This last estrangement, however, had been more painful than the rest, especially when it had occurred over something that had given Ross more happiness than he’d ever expected it to have done. Some _one_ , in fact.

He’d told her that he’d needed time to think, and he did. During the two days and nights at Trenwith, he’d thought long and hard about the current situation as he’d wandered the grounds or lain in bed at night. He’d contemplated it during the service, as Reverend Hodges intoned words written years before and chanted in churches all across Britain when bidding the final farewell to a loved one. And during the reception at the house, when he was ignored or dismissed by one of the simpering members of his class after another, all of whom found him too scandalous to associate with, his mind wandered. And, finally, all along the long, dark ride home; he could think of nothing else.

He’d come to the conclusion that he should have asked her to come with him, to be the one solitary ally on his side as he faced the challenges and sorrows of this time. More than that, he’d needed her to be with him. He did need her in his life, for more than what he’d initially thought before their marriage. Servant, friend and siren continued to weave around one another, blurring the lines between them more and more often, and he realized that she was more to him than just a distraction.

And then he thought about what had happened the night before he’d left Nampara. It filled his stomach with shame and regret. Simply put, he had treated her abominably. He had taken her and used her body. There was no other way to put it, no excuse that could be given to make it right.

His uncle’s death had unleashed memories about the loss of his own father, Joshua, who’d died six months before Ross’s return. He’d barely had time to grieve the loss, with the revelation of Elizabeth’s engagement to Francis, his return to a home and lands nearly destroyed from lack of attention and the prospect of abject poverty more probable than he’d realized. By packing away the loss of Joshua Poldark, he’d been able to focus attention on bringing his property back from the brink and Wheal Leisure back to life. Many people had relied upon him to do just that and he was proud to have been able to do so.

But the memories flooded back with a vengeance when he’d watched Charles Poldark breathe his last. Ross didn’t know what to do with them except to try to harness them once again, as he had before. But he hadn’t counted on how difficult it would be to do that now with Demelza in his life. She was a radiant source of caring and concern he didn’t have before; so open in her worry for him, her willingness to grant him succour. Instead, he’d closed her out, pushed her away when he’d needed her comfort and care the most, until the pain and grief could be contained no longer and he’d done the unconscionable. While she hadn’t refused him, he hadn’t given her time to accept him, or even participate. How could a man treat a woman he respects and revels in the comfort of her arms and body, so callously? He had no answers, none at all. He only hoped she would find it in her heart to forgive him.

He dismounted Darkie as he reached the drive leading to the house, leading her the rest of the way towards the yard on foot. Jud was nowhere to be found, but Ross found he didn’t much care. He’d see to the horse himself. He spent an hour putting Darkie in for the night, taking care with her currying, cleaning the tack and filling her feedbag (and that of Rose) before gathering his saddlebag and turning for the door. He caught a glimpse of the haystack on the opposite side of the barn and remembered, with blistering clarity, the evening he and Demelza had made use of it, coming together with more passion and hunger than either of them had been able to harness long enough to make it inside to their bed. Had he ruined everything? Would she be frightened of him? Queasiness swirled in his stomach and he found himself needing to take a few deep breaths before leaving the barn for the house.

The light was on in the parlour. A bottle of brandy and a tart rested at his place at the table. He picked up the tart and took a bite; the sweet-tart juice from the cherries so vivid against his tongue he closed his eyes with the first flicker of joy to grace his life in almost a week. Where was Demelza?

Jinny came out of the kitchen, startled at the sight of him. “Excuse me, Captain Ross, sir,” she said, her hand over her heart.

“Forgive me, Jinny, I didn’t mean to frighten you. What are you still doing here?” he asked.

“Mistress Poldark asked if I could stay until you were back home, sir,” she said softly. His gaze flicked over to the kitchen where he saw Demelza’s old box bed made up with bedding, Jinny’s infant daughter Kate happily gurgling amidst the pillows. He felt his heart twist in his chest. “The mistress will be ever so glad to see you, sir.”

He nodded, not at all convinced he could make a sound if he tried.

“Shall I go now, sir?” she asked.

He shook himself from his silence and cleared his throat. “No, not at all, Jinny, it’s too late for you to head back to Mellon tonight.” He paused. “Where is she?”

Jinny looked up the stairs. “In your chamber, sir,” she said, her voice sombre. “She only went up about an hour ago.” She reached to take his hat and saddlebag. He gave it to her gratefully, nodding his thanks.

Ross picked up the plate with the tart and climbed the stairs. He could hear Demelza humming as soon as he reached the bedchamber door. A quiet melody, soothing and serene, wrapped itself around him. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

She sat in an armchair she’d asked him to move up from the library the week after they’d married. Positioned near the fire, it had given her a comfortable spot to sit whilst he finished up paperwork in the evenings. She looked up from the mending she’d been working on when he entered the room and offered him a small smile. “Welcome home, Ross,” she said softly, securing the needle in the fabric and setting it aside to stand from her seat.

He set the plate with the tart down on the desk and took two steps to reach her side. Her hair glowed in the firelight. It was her eyes, however, that made him pause. They were tired, and dark smudges were noticeable beneath them. He reached down to clasp her left hand in both of his, and gently gave it a squeeze. “Hello, Demelza,” he said, his voice scratchy with emotion.

She looked up at him, returning the squeeze before removing her hand. “You found the tart?” she asked, her voice even and measured.

He nodded.

“I can put together some supper for you, if you’re hungry,” she continued in that same polite voice. She walked over to where the brandy decanter sat on the desk. “Or some brandy, perhaps?”

“No, nothing,” he said, walking over to where she stood and gripping her hands in his once more. “Demelza, I beg for your forgiveness for the other night,” he said, his eyes searching hers for something, _anything_ that would conflict with the civil, detached voice coming from her throat. “Please tell me you forgive me.”

“I did, Ross,” she said softly. “Twice.”

He winced. He remembered hearing her respond to his blundering apologies, saying she would forgive him. Heard it, but hadn’t accepted it. “Demelza, there are some who feel a man has the right to seek his wife’s bed whenever he wants, even if she protests or declines at any time.” He paused. “I am not that kind of man.”

“Ross, I—”

“—Please, Demelza, let me finish this.” He cleared his throat once more. “I told you once there was to be no shame between us when we were together, like this, yes?”

She nodded.

“That night,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, “I was ashamed, for I abused you as no man ever has a right to do to a woman.”

 She was shaking her head. _What did that mean?_ “Ross, what happened that night—”

“—Demelza—” he started.

Her fingers pressed onto his lips to stop him. “It’s my turn, Ross,” she insisted, frowning before moving her hand to touch his chest. “I insist you give me a chance to talk to you, husband! I’ve been trying to talk to you for days and you’ve not given me a single chance!”

He took a shuddering breath, and then nodded. “You are right, I’m sorry,” he murmured, “go on.”

She nodded. “When you turned to me…” she began, and he struggled to remain silent. “Yes, it was sudden and unexpected, and it startled me,” she continued, her eyes barely flickering upwards to catch his. “But it was not unwanted, Ross. I’d wanted for you to look to me for consolation ever since you came home from Trenwith after your uncle died.” Her hand reached up to stroke the side of his face, her index finger running along the scar on his cheek, something she did often when they were together. Her brow furrowed and she raised her eyes to fix his with a concerned gaze. “When you didn’t, I was afraid that you were angry with me for not going with you in the first place that day.”

He blinked so suddenly it would have been comical if not for the tension in the room. “Angry?” he said, bewildered. His hands gripped her shoulders.

She nodded emphatically. “Don’t you remember? I told you I couldn’t go because there were cows to be meated and pastries to make! They were excuses, Ross, you said so yourself!”

He blinked again. “Demelza, it was a perfectly reasonable excuse for not going. You could never have known what would happen that day!” he said, running his hand through his hair. He began to pace around the room, incredulous, then turned to face her. “And all this time, you thought that I was angry with you over _that_?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said, brokenly. “Ross, if I’d allowed myself to trust you not to lead me into a situation that I couldn’t handle that day I _would_ have been able to be with you these past few days.” She walked over to where he stood, placing her hands on his chest. “After all, if I’d done that, I would have met your family properly, so when the time came, I could stand next to you, comfort and support you.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face before looking into her eyes, his right hand cupping her left elbow, his thumb gently rubbing the outside of her arm. “Demelza, I fear I’ve been the cause of a misunderstanding, my dear. My standoffishness towards you had nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to do with your decision not to join me that day.” He saw her eyes widen in surprise and confusion. “Please, give me a chance to explain?”

He led her to the armchair for her to sit, but she turned them around, insisted on having him sit. She slid onto his lap and snuggled back against him. Awkward at first, he soon adjusted to the feel of her nestled against him. He looped his arm around her waist and picked up her hand, slipping his fingers through hers loosely and began.

The words came tentatively from him, his discomfort at talking about his feelings warring with the need for honesty that he knew was owed her after so many days of silence and confusion. He told her how he had denied himself the chance to properly mourn his father’s death after his return from America in order to try to save his inheritance and build a future for himself after Elizabeth’s engagement. How Charles’s death had uncovered the buried emotions he had over his father’s passing and he did not know what to do with them, so he pushed them away, and – in so doing – pushed _her_ away.

As he spoke, he watched as her eyes welled with tears that she dashed quickly away. Her hands never seemed to stop touching him, running along his chest and his arms, soothing him, quieting him. He shook his head ruefully. “What a fool I’ve been, Demelza! To wilfully walk away from you when I needed you the most. And why?” he asked rhetorically. “Because I was too proud to tell you, to share with you what I was feeling.” He looked into her eyes, jade green with concern and empathy and touched her cheek.

“I should have pressed you to share with me, Ross,” she whispered, “even though you probably would have barked at me, I should have done.” Her fingertip stroked the line of his brow and down along his sideburn and he shivered under her touch. “I wanted to hold you, be with you. And when you didn’t turn to me, I didn’t know what to do to even _try_ to console you. You were so quiet, so distant and I didn’t know how to reach you.”

“Can you forgive me, Demelza?” His voice was tight with emotion. “For not opening up to you, not trusting you or our relationship enough to understand what I was going through.” He paused, capturing her gaze in his. “For my behaviour the night before last?”

She brushed a kiss on his lips. “There is nothing to forgive, Ross. Please, let me be here for you.”

Ross was speechless, the generosity of her heart overwhelming him. She reached down, her hands slipping around his neck, her fingers in his hair and drew his head up for her kiss. They stayed in the armchair for several moments, simply enjoying the feel of their mouths against one another. Shortly, Ross gathered her in his arms and stood up from the chair and walked over to their bed.

There was no sense of urgency, no mad scrabbling of hands as they stripped one another of their garments. No words were spoken; only the occasional sigh or gasp as they kissed and caressed one another’s skin as it was exposed.

Naked, they fell onto the bed, limbs entwined as their need for one another sparked and ignited. Tasting, touching, mindless in the passage of time and space until he slipped his knee between her thighs. He raised his head, opening his eyes to capture her passion-drugged gaze in his. “May I have you, Demelza?” he whispered, his voice tight with desire.

“Yes, Ross,” she sighed, parting her legs to him. He slipped his body into the cradle of her thighs and slowly filled her with his length.

They lay together, quiet and still, for several moments, arms and legs intertwined, each feeling the thudding pulse where they were linked. At some point, she flexed her hips and the friction resulting from her motion caused both of them to shudder and move together. Ross pressed his lips against hers, his tongue tasting and then tangling with hers as their movements became more forceful and frantic. Her legs drew up to circle his waist, her feet slipping down around his buttocks, heels drawing him closer and tighter against her with each thrust. She tore her mouth from his, gasping his name, imploring him to move faster and harder, and he obliged, supporting his upper body on his forearms as his hips quickened their pace. Lost within her, he lasted mere seconds before the shivers began at the base of his spine and his vision narrowed. The climax struck him like a blow, wrenching in its intensity, joyfully hollowing him to a shell of himself.

Dizzily, he drew back his head to press a kiss to her lips, only then realizing that she trembled on the brink of her own release. She was beautiful in her ecstasy, her face and neck rose-pink and flushed with passion; but her body was as tense as a bow string. “Demelza—” he gasped.

She shook her head. “I-it’s…okay, Ross,” she said, her voice tight with strain. He slipped from her embrace, shifting down the bed, his eyes never leaving hers and knelt between her legs, drawing them both over his shoulders. His mouth closed on her womanhood, damp and fragrant, tasting the bitterness of his own seed and the sweetness of her body’s dew as his tongue bathed and circled her swollen bud, rejoicing in being able to give her this offering, as apology, and in gratitude to her and the gift of herself. She cried out as she came against his mouth, his hair held fast in her fingers as she bucked against his tongue.

Time passed. Ross looked up, his head resting on the inside of her left thigh, past the glistening red hair of her womanhood, up her belly to her breasts, that gently swayed with each beat of her pounding heart. He rose up onto one elbow, leaning to press a kiss on her lower belly, and pulled himself up the mattress until he lay next to her, drawing her into his embrace. One of her legs slipped in between his thighs and they fell asleep.

Hours later, he woke to find her over by the fireplace, dressed in his robe, the garment nearly swallowing her body. The too-large neck of the garment exposed the ivory gleam of her shoulder. He rose from the bed and padded over to her. She turned her head on his approach and smiled. She was nibbling on pieces of the cherry tart he’d brought upstairs. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said softly, “for you looked so peaceful.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder. “I find peace when I am with you, Demelza,” he said quietly. He turned her around and placed his hands on her shoulder. “I should have asked you to join me, at Trenwith, today,” he said. “I’m sorry I did not make that sentiment clear to you, my dear.”

She was quiet for a moment before raising her serious gaze to his. “Ross, you know one of my greatest fears is that I’ll shame you by doing something wrong in front of your kind,” she said softly, a blush turning her cheeks rosy pink. He shook his head, objections springing to his mind within seconds, but she caught his head in her hands. “But I promise, Ross: the next time you ask me? I will do better.”

Juice from the cherries had stained her lips and he found himself entranced. He leaned forward and kissed her, savouring the sweet taste of cherries and Demelza on his tongue.

He knew she would. And so would he.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to those of you who have given me kudos and left comments -- they really do inspire the work, so please keep them coming! I am also beyond grateful to my betas, Sherylyn and Jackie for their hard work reviewing and challenging me as this pice was under development. This was especially true for this chapter, which -- as you can see -- covers some delicate topics. It was time for Romelza to have to contend with a disagreements and misunderstandings. I'm glad they have come up with a way to work through them. Or have they?
> 
> Mapping out the next part of our journey as well as another little piece that Jackie requested. A hint? It involves a haystack. ;-)


End file.
